The Scarlet Lady
by Retro Soul
Summary: A collection of short poems about Jack and his scarlet lady. Takes place when Jack is in his early twenties. Warning: mature themes. (Updated frequently)
1. Part 1

"I like your hat," she says.

This catches his attention.

No remark about seeing her naked on his bedroom floor.

No forced sexual innuendo.

He turns from his glass and looks at her.

"I like your dress," he says back.

And he does.

And maybe he'd like to see her without it.

But he'd never tell.

Not now, at least.

And that's all they say, the entirety of the words they exchange that night.

She doesn't take a cent from his pocket and he doesn't take a single taste of her body.

And after he leaves for the night, retiring to his lonesome abyss, he permits his mind to wander.

He wouldn't mind losing his virginity to her.


	2. Part 2

"You're back," she says, the following night.

She gravitates towards him the moment he saunters through the doors.

He looks at her.

God.

He's low on cash but she sure looks good in the misty saloon light.

"So it would seem," his words slide out with ease.

And the piano plays it's tune.

And the men around them drink.

Drunk beyond a rational thought.

And she still looks like hell in the same dress as last night.


	3. Part 3

"I can't believe that was your first time," she says, panting as he rolls off of her.

"Neither can I."

And he can't.

She's just a whore, just a pretty little thing.

He's supposed to be a wholesome man.

The man he was raised to be.

But what is and what is meant to be are two different universes.

And he knows his mother is turning in her grave.

And he knows his father would look down at him with beady eyes.

But they are both dead now.

And he quite likes what his money got him tonight.


	4. Part 4

"Twice in one week, now that's something," she says.

Somehow, her lips are tastier.

Her skin is softer.

Everything she has melts in his hands and he loves every bit of it.

His groans against her neck shouldn't mean anything.

But they do.

He's got a single dollar left in his pocket and he's ready to spend it all on her.


	5. Part 5

"That's the last of it," he says, now empty handed.

She looks at him.

She stares.

And there's a lot to look at it.

The scattered hair on his upper lip.

The dirt permanently stained against his neck.

The hidden eyes from behind his cheek bones.

And she likes him enough to say,

"Tonight's on the house."


	6. Part 6

"I never did catch your name," she says.

He rolls off of her, just like the first night.

He's panting, trying to restore his breath.

Although soon he'll have to answer her indirect question.

He sees no use for names.

She's a pretty little thing, maybe too pretty for him.

And he's just hoping he'll get over this obsession soon.

He can't afford her for much longer.

"Come on," she says, playing with his dusty hair. "Tell me your name."

Her tone is sweet and her scent even more so.

And he's reluctant to say.

But her hands on his chest feel so good and it's not long before he gasps out exactly what she wants to hear.

"Jack. Jack Marston."


	7. Part 7

You've never asked my name," she says, some nights later.

Her tone does not fluctuate and her brows are not arched.

He stands against the recently shut door and she across from him.

Arms crossed.

Lips firm.

And for the first time, he realizes this means more to her than a day's pay.

And he realizes that he's the only one here for just the sex.

"What is your name?" he asks, although he'd never really been curious.

She gives him a hard glare.

But gives in.

"The paying customers call me Honey," she says.

Then she hands his money back to him.

"Call me Caroline."


	8. Part 8

"She's with a customer right now," the bar tender says.

After hunting the saloon with no sign of her, he figured he'd ask.

Now he wishes he hadn't.

Another customer.

Another customer?

It's not as if he expected total devotion from her.

That's the last thing he expected.

But another customer?

He hadn't quite thought about that either.

It's her job, after all.

And he keeps telling himself it doesn't bother him.

That he's only here for what she can give him.

But even he knows he's lying.


	9. Part 9

"Do you like me, Jack?" she asks, her breath hot on his cheek.

Her nails on his back.

Her skin tight with his.

Her scent overwhelming.

And his heart flutters at the sound of his name in her voice.

"I like you," he stammers.

And that's when he knows he's falling.

Too fast for comfort.

"Jack," she says it again.

And now he knows he's no longer here for just the sex.


End file.
